Fever (Breathless #2)(25)

It was sinfully wasteful, but she used two towels, one for her body and the other to wrap in her hair. It was a frivolous luxury that gave her a giddy thrill to indulge in.

She blinked in surprise when she realized that there was a change of clothes lying on the counter that hadn’t been there before. And a thick robe hanging on the back of the door. There was also a pair of slippers. The man had thought of everything.

Her gaze tracked to the clothes again and she frowned. Like he kept women’s clothing just lying around his apartment?

She picked up the pair of jeans and the T-shirt and quickly saw that both were too big. Not by much, and truthfully, a year or so ago they would have fit. She hadn’t been as thin then. Not as lean. More fleshed out. She’d had more of an actual shape.

Now she was reduced to boobs and not much else. No hips. Not much of an ass. Angular features due to weight loss. Life on the streets was hard. It aged a person before their time.

After taking the time to dry herself completely, she pulled on the pair of panties stuck between the jeans and the T-shirt, embarrassed that she was borrowing some other woman’s underwear. There wasn’t a bra, and she supposed it didn’t really matter anyway. She only had two and both were almost falling apart. The one she’d taken off—or rather Jace had taken off—was dirty and torn. It wasn’t salvageable.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already gotten up close and personal with her boobs. Seeing her without a bra wouldn’t be a shock.

She tugged the T-shirt over her head and it hung loosely over her hips. It didn’t even stretch tight over her br**sts, which meant whoever the shirt belonged to was more endowed than she was.

After pulling on the jeans, she took the towel off her head and dragged her fingers through her hair in an attempt to rectify the bedraggled wet-cat look. She was only moderately successful and she wasn’t about to rummage through Jace’s drawers to borrow a brush.

She blew out a deep breath, squared her shoulders and then turned to the door. She hesitated, her hand gripping the knob. Total chicken. The idea of facing Jace terrified her. Not because she thought he’d hurt her but because she knew she didn’t stand a chance against him.

Worse, she wasn’t certain she wanted to stand up to him. It was far easier to allow him to take charge. Being taken care of was such a foreign concept that it tempted her. It dangled before her like the proverbial carrot before the donkey.

She jumped when the door vibrated against her hand.

“Bethany? Are you finished?”

Swallowing, she opened the door to see Jace standing a few feet away. He glanced down her body and frowned.

“I need you to take those jeans back off. I was supposed to bandage you up before you got dressed.”

“I forgot,” she said in a low voice. “I assumed since you left the clothing there that you intended for me to get dressed.”

“Not a big deal. Come into the living room. We’ll do it there.”

He reached out his hand to cup her elbow and then he guided her out of the bathroom, back through his bedroom and then into the sprawling living room.

He had a truly spectacular view of the city with panoramic windows.

“Slip out of your jeans,” he said. “Then get comfortable on the couch. Dinner is just about ready. By the time I get you all fixed up, we can eat.”

Knowing it was useless to argue, she unfastened the pants and let them fall down her legs.

“I know they’re too big,” Jace said as she kicked them away. He reached for her hand and pulled her down to sit next to him. “We’ll go tomorrow and get what you need. The very first thing you’re getting is a damn coat. It’s freezing out there and you’ve been running all over this damn city without proper clothing. That shit stops now.”

There was steel in his tone and yet some of the deeply entrenched cold began to dissipate at the edge of concern in his voice. He spoke like a man who genuinely cared about her well-being.

She mentally shook herself because that kind of fantasy was dangerous territory. She’d learned the hard way that she could rely on absolutely no one but herself to take care of her. And even she had let herself down. Just like all the others.

He leaned toward the coffee table, where a small first-aid kit rested. There was a long moment of silence while he applied ointment to each and every scrape and then affixed gauze and tape on the large ones and put large Band-Aids on the smaller cuts.

Before she realized his intent, he pushed her back on the couch and lifted her T-shirt.

“I don’t have any cuts there!” she cried when his hand skimmed over her belly.

His expression was murderous as he lifted his gaze to hers. “No, but you have bruises. What the f**k happened out there, Bethany? Who did this to you?”

He sounded so pissed that she flinched from the anger in his voice. It was instinctive to withdraw. Self-preservation.

A low hiss escaped his tight lips. “Goddamn it, Bethany, I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you. But I want to know what son of a bitch did.”

“Y-you s-sound so a-angry.”

“Hell yes. I’m furious! But not at you, baby.” His voice softened as he called her baby, and something inside her went soft as well. “I’m pissed at the bastard who put his hands on you. And you’re going to tell me exactly how this happened.”